


A Mess to Be Made.

by dahliahawthorne



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahliahawthorne/pseuds/dahliahawthorne
Summary: And in his dreams, she calls him baby.But he wakes up and is by himself in his dark room and is reminded she’s gone and won’t come back.None of them will.-Naegi has dreams about Sayaka Maizono and the killing games.





	A Mess to Be Made.

**Author's Note:**

> My partner mentioned Naegi having dreams about Sayaka and they range from the two of them making out to her killing him.  
> I've been dying to write something Dangan Ronpa, and when I say this spoke to me. I mean it.  
> Sayaka Maizono is my favorite character in the series, and I wanted to hint at some headcanons I have while not taking away from the plot.
> 
> The title is from A Mess to Be Made by the Format.
> 
> Anyway, here you guys go!

And in his dreams, she calls him baby.   
But he wakes up and is by himself in his dark room and is reminded she’s gone and won’t come back.  
None of them will.  
-  
It starts slow.  
The two of them meeting again at the pond. Ducks swimming laps in the clear blue water. She’s sitting under a tree, writing music, skipping class. The same way she always did.

The swan falls in the water and the splash shifts everyone’s attention. He watches as it seems to thrash and keep itself from drowning.  
He’s always related to swans.

The scene goes blurry and suddenly they’re sixteen and sitting on his mother’s couch. There’s some idol contest on and he watches as she cheers on the Major group to move up, claiming she knew all along which ones are going to make it. He always admired the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about idols, and how their smiles keep her going. Even if they’re all fake.  
Sometimes smiling is a reflex.

Then he notices his arm is numb and she’s sound asleep. Little streams of drool tracing her pale skin as she mumbles something about a producer and a van. Her face switching between joy and pain.   
He wakes her up and watches as the tears form in her eyes.   
He wishes he could save her. Save all of them.  
But they’re dead, and they’re not coming back.   
None of them will.  
-  
He sees her in his dreams again that night.   
She’s in her stage outfit and her eyes sparkle under the spotlight. Her voice filling the crowded arena and middle-aged men’s voices cheering her name.  
He wishes it could be different. That she didn’t feel the need to perform for people all the time.  
But this is who she was. She was the queen of pretending.

The scene shifts and they’re in her dressing room. The mirror covered in kiss marks from the other group members and messages scrawled in red lipstick.   
At least she had her friends.  
She’d kill someone for them.  
And she does.  
And she’s not coming back.  
-  
They’re in his childhood bedroom. Posters of her group line the wall and he wonders how she stands to be in a place that idolizes her while treating her like a friend.  
He wonders if anyone does that.  
Treats her as a person.

They sit and talk for hours. She talks about how her producer is always hounding her for not selling albums while refusing to promote them. How she wishes they were actually thriving instead of just being used for retweets. How she wishes she remembers who she is. Who she was. How she got here.  
He talks about his sister. How he’s lucky he’s still alive. How he sees the good in everyone. She wonders how he’s able to do that.   
She kisses him on the lips and he knows how _right_ the world can be.   
-  
She smells like lemongrass and sage. Refreshing and warm. The sun.  
She runs her fingers through his hair. It’s soft, just like he is. Her head on his shoulder, their chests rising and falling in sync.   
She sits on his lap and just closes her eyes, feeling safe for the first time in her life.  
He kisses her forehead and she feels her mouth curve into a smile. A real one. And her face feels like it’s cracking. A clay mask breaking as she lets her guard down.

The scene blurs, a warm, soft feeling of safety and support. Of love. Of understanding. 

Their lips touching. Their hearts racing. They’re safe and they’re in love.  
And in his dreams, she calls him baby.  
But he wakes up and is by himself in his dark room and is reminded she’s gone and won’t come back.  
None of them will.  
-  
He wonders what it’s like to sleep without thinking about her.

The scene changes, the situations rotating between reality and fiction.  
Sometimes Kirigiri will be there. Sometimes it’s Sakura or Chihiro. Sometimes it’s all of them.  
Most of the time it’s no one except her.  
-  
He watches her from a distance. Tracing her finger along the screen, whispering something about getting out of here and seeing them again.  
He wishes it was coherent, but it’s more like a glitch. Her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Only being able to make out the word ‘stab.’  
Stab and leave.

Suddenly they’re in his bathroom and she’s laying in the shower. There’s no knife. There’s no blood. There’s just her. It’s always just her.  
-  
They’re back in his childhood bedroom.  
The walls covered in the pink splatter of blood. 11037 tracing the ceiling. Her laying on his bedroom floor.  
He goes to check her pulse, to see her breathe. Her chest rise. Her say something. Anything.  
But she doesn’t.  
And she never will.  
And he can’t escape.  
-  
The two of them are in the killing game. The empty room seems to grow bigger and bigger as he realizes how truly alone he is.  
She asks to trade bedrooms and instead he offers for her to sleep over.   
So they do.  
And she calls him baby.   
-  
The two of them are on his couch and she’s sitting in his lap, running her fingers through his hair the way they always do when they’re happy.   
He’s asleep on her shoulder and she can’t help but notice his lips turned up into a smile.  
She watches him for a while. Seeing the way he seems to run, and mumble, and mention something about people being dead. Something about it being his fault.

He’s cute.   
She hates he has to die.  
Suddenly, there’s a laugh that chills the room and a knife in her hand.  
The scene goes red and all that he feels is a knife grazing his neck.

He wakes up in a cold sweat in his dark bedroom all alone.  
He’s alive.  
But no one else is. And they’re not coming back.

He turns the posters on his wall over.  
Sometimes it’s better to be alone.


End file.
